This was originally posted on blogger.

Strong-willed. Determined.

She carried these things around the house in her every step. Up the stairs, down the stairs, facing off against her mirrored self on the wall. Wandering into the garden, ignoring the gawking chickens, who were enamored by her, as we all are. She searched for those spots where no others dared to go, filling the darkest corners with light.

Graceful. Care-free. Friendly.

The pitter-patter of her footsteps is heard around the house. Who’s there? I ask, but she does not wait for permission to walk in. When lucky, she jumps onto my bed and stares thoughtfully out of the window. It’s a big world out there. We bought some ringing toys for her to play with, and she claws at them playfully yet with certainty: These are mine.

She loves being around people, but not too close – certainly not at first. Her carer tells me it comes from the fact that she was raised by dogs. She and her siblings were orphaned and then given to a momma dog who had still-born pups. Even after all these years she hasn’t lost her adaptability and affectionate nature.

Grass-loving. Charismatic.

She loves plants. She’ll eat anything she can get her paws on, so my succulent is moved to a safe place where she can’t see. When she finds cat-nip (more accurately, non-verbally influences others to produce it for her), she eats it like Halloween candy: as fast as she possibly can, and with no regard for her health or savings. But we couldn’t take the grass away from her – that would crush her heart, and by extension, ours. She knows this. When she wants more she purrs at the door and looks up to the plants, and we do our best.

Boogers. Dignified.

Sometimes she has boogers on her nose. Housecats sometimes have this, especially when they are old and in a new environment, like she is. For a couple days I was tasked with wiping the boogers off her face. She was too dignified to let me, though, and pretended they weren’t there, even if it meant sniffling all day.

Seventeen.

She is seventeen years old. That’s 84 in cat years. She has a tumor on her stomach – it’s a hard lump on her belly, but I try not to look because it reminds me.

After a few weeks with living with us, she loses her appetite. She withdraws to her room – too tired for this house, too old for us. I know this, and I want the best for her, but all the same I don’t want her to leave. We still keep cap-nip, just in case she wants some when she’s up there. I hope she’ll meet her adopted-mom, her cat-mom, and everyone else who loved her as much as she loved life.

Buttercup.

- Rohan Prasad, Jan 4th, 2020.